The Monster

Corey Stone had spent his entire life taking the easy way out, and because of this he eventually had to live the hardest life imaginable. As a child, he had displayed a temperate disposition, and his mother, who was a tough, bighearted women with an un-discerning mind, nicknamed him “Angel.” In fact, Corey had spent those formative years observing his environment with nothing but deviance in regards to how he would come to dominate it. His first friends were so afraid of him they complained when their mothers forced them to play with him. He would break and steal their toys, hit them and manipulate them. To his mother he could do no wrong, however, and he was rarely punished for anything, and even when he was, he knew that in the end the reward for his suffering would greatly outweigh it in the end.

            His father was a drunk, and barely spent any time with him. Corey often witnessed how his father would argue with his mother, and, because he feared her deep down, would leave in the middle of the argument in a fever. What he did not know is that when he left, he would go to the bar, or a friend’s, to get plastered. As Corey grew, he developed more of a relationship with his father. From the time he was seven or eight years old they would often go fishing together. During these fishing trips, father and son would get plastered together. His mother knew what went on during these trips, but felt powerless to stop it. She could only harbor further resentment towards her husband and bad-mouth him to her son. But Corey held his mother’s warnings in little regard. He decided that his father was a great man, and believed everything he said to him. “Women are no good use to a man if she’s not making him money, food, or children,” he’d say. And then, changing his mind he’d continue: “Or, should I say, not making him children!” And he’d let out a horrible laugh.

            As soon as Corey entered adolescence, his sole objective became to take advantage of as many girls as he could, and he was highly successful in his exploits. Girls that had once despised him for the cruel jokes he had played now gave themselves to him with no hesitation. And, in fact, as Corey found, the more they had hated him the more desperate they were to give him their virginity. Corey developed a reputation among his peers. The other boys envied him, and feared him; and the girls feared him, and loved him. He developed a small gang of boys who revered him, and together, they rebelled against the system. They’d skip school to go drinking by the river, where, with whatever girl Corey was after at the moment, they would engage in lewd acts. Corey felt generous by giving his friends the chance to partake in these acts, and certainly his friends were grateful to him.

            It did not matter that these girls were left feeling humiliated and used. Most often, they couldn’t even bring themselves to talk about what had happened with their friends, so their friends never knew any better than to get involved with Corey.

            One of these girls, when Corey was sixteen, became pregnant by him. The girl dropped out of school and had the baby, and Corey, out of sheer luck, was let off unscathed. He continued with his exploits, though now he was more careful, and did not have a repeat incident while he was in high school.

            When he graduated, which he was only able to do because he was naturally very intelligent, he joined the army, where he spent two years stationed at a base in Mexico. There, he engaged in twice the amount of debauchery he had done his entire time in high school. When he came back, he was a full-fledged alcoholic. The money he received from the army was enough to pay for his rent in a shabby one-room apartment, and his addiction. He spent his twenties whoring and drinking, and soon developed a new addiction—crack. This wasted his funds, and in his mid thirties, he was evicted from his apartment and became homeless. No longer able to afford both drink and crack, he stuck to the latter, and continued paying for sex.

            By the time he was in his late fifties, his body was wasted. His chest constantly hurt, as did his liver. Most likely he suffered from multiple diseases, but they were all undiagnosed as he had avoided doctors and managed to stay out of the emergency room. He had, after all, always been very tough, and though he was in constant pain, if you met him you’d think he was exceptionally healthy.

            He spent most of his time in the park, watching the beautiful women pass by. Some of them he knew. They would avoid his gaze, remembering the past with bitterness and regret. Most of these women had husbands, and Corey hadn’t the courage to call out to them and incite the wrath of their significant others.

            One evening, a woman was walking through the park on her way home from work when she noticed Corey on the ground, convulsing. She approached and immediately recognized the face. She hesitated for a moment, but then, taking pity on the man, pulled out her phone and called 911.

            The woman, upon following the ambulance to the hospital, waited in the waiting room. A nurse came out and approached. She informed the woman that Corey had had a stroke and was now in a coma. He wouldn’t last long, she said.

            The woman was brought into the room where Corey lay. He was attached by tubes to several machines. She approached.

            “I don’t know if you can hear me,” she said, “I don’t even know if you’d remember me even if you could. It’s Sarah, the girl you knocked up in high school. I’m sure you’ve knocked up plenty of girls since and it doesn’t even matter to you. But you should know, I am fine. Your son, on the other hand, I have no idea. He left to go out west when he was sixteen. For all I know he’s living on the streets, like you. You destroyed my life. But that doesn’t matter. Look at you now. Maybe when you die, you’ll finally understand what it means to be a man. But probably not. Hell must be full of children—children like you. I suppose I should feel bad for you. You were like a boat that never left the dock. The only difference is that you had a choice.”

            At that moment, Corey’s pulse quickened, and his eyes began to open and close very rapidly. He was coming back to life. A nurse entered, and quickly left again to call the doctor. Corey’s eyes then opened, he turned his head to face Sarah, and began to mutter something desperately. Sarah stood amazed. She watched as the lines on the pulse monitor rose and fell rapidly, and his hand pounded the side of the bed. Before the doctor could make it into the room, Corey was dead.